Diverse Voices Quarterly Issue 1 & 2

swimming instead of walking on eggshells at home. This was a good solution. I was
happy. We set up our stuff in the woods, sat down on our blanket, and each ate a
piece of the first apple turnover. Kerry neatly rewrapped the string around the box.
“We need to save some for dinner,” she said with an air of responsibility.
At ten o’clock we carefully tucked our things, including the pink box, into a safe
place in the woods and headed for The Aqua Center. Since I hadn’t gotten my badge
yet, we had to go into the toddler pool, which was only four feet at the deepest end.
Only a few people were there that early, and they were mostly adults. We played for a
while, enjoying our freedom and looking forward to our turnover dinner later, when we
caught sight of Dad walking out of the men’s locker room wearing his white undershirt
and dark trousers.
At 6'4" and 250 pounds, he was hard to miss. He was moved forward in a
determined fashion. Kerry looked at me with wide eyes and told me to get down low in
the water and toward the side of the pool, as flat as I could. “Maybe he won’t see us,”
she whispered.
We were the only ones in the toddler pool, though, and very conspicuous there
without any parents nearby. He walked past us at first, heading toward the badge
pool, but then turned back almost immediately, walking through the gates into the
toddler pool enclosure. When he walked to one end of the pool, we ran to the other.
After three times of doing this, he motioned for a lifeguard to jump in and direct us to
the ladder leading out of the pool.
My father’s neat brown hair was combed straight back, and I stared at the big wide
space between his front teeth as he angrily spoke. “Get out of the pool now! We’re
going home!” The look on his face didn’t invite any comments, so we grabbed our
towels off the fence, put on our flip-flops, and followed him to the front exit.
“What were you two thinking? Your mother is a nervous wreck.” He loaded us into
the station wagon, and we headed home past the woods where our pink box was
hiding. By the time we got home, I was shivering in my towel, partly cold and partly
scared. As we pulled into the driveway, my dad turned around and looked at Kerry.
“You should know better,” he scolded. “Both of you go inside and change, then get in
the kitchen. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”
Before we could finish dressing, my mother was standing in the doorway of my
room with her hands on her hips. Her thick brown hair was fluffy and hugging her
neck. All I could see was her bright-red lipstick as she declared our punishment. “No
one runs away from our home. You’re both going to get a beating. Once you’re done
getting dressed, go to the garage. Your father is waiting.”
Kerry glared at our mother as she turned her back on her and headed toward the
kitchen. Kerry looked at me and grabbed some thick storybooks from the bookshelf.
“Put two of these in your pants so that when he hits you with the belt, it won’t hurt.” I
did as she said, but there was such a big bulge where my small butt was that I was
sure he would notice. We took as long as we could, moving ever so slowly through the
kitchen, into the spare room, and through the door into the garage.
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 1 & 2
23